


In Need of Assistance

by Fernandidilly_yo



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Assistant AU, Author doesn't know how businesses work, Author has never worked in an office, College Student Peter Parker, Crack, Domestic junk, Friendship, Gen, Humor, I am writing this to get through my writer's block, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter is the Avenger's Assistant, Shuri cameo, and yes he is still Spider-Man, yes the new science bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-27 10:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernandidilly_yo/pseuds/Fernandidilly_yo
Summary: This has become tradition now, Peter comes down to R&D to have lunch with Gwen, venting to her about the sorrows of working for inconsiderate Superheroes- all the while she doesn’t shove in his face how wonderful it is down here in the land of Research and Development.Gwen has dubbed it as ‘Therapy Hour’.“I am too good for them,” Peter says into the crook of his arm.Gwen turns the page of her book, “far too good.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for months, and I am now using its silliness to push through my writer's block. If you liked my fic _Brace for Impact_ then you'll probably enjoy this as well. 
> 
> **Disclaimer-** I own nothing, and will continue to own nothing.

**In Need of Assistance-**

“Why do I do this?” Peter moans to Gwen, slumped against the elevator door with half a dozen coffees balanced precariously in hand- there are many benefits to having sticky-fingers, one of which is being physically able to hold large drink orders without spilling them. 

Gwen smiles, all purple lipstick and pearly white teeth. “Because you’re a poor, desperate, college student,” she says, far too happy about the fact.

Peter thumps the back of his head against the steel wall. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, like he could possibly forget.  _“That.”_

“I mean it could be worse,” Gwen says, hefting up a box full of who knows what as the elevator  _‘dings’_  to let her know it’s her floor. “You could be Pepper.”

Peter makes a face, scrunching his nose in something like disgust, something very closely related to horror. “True,” he admits as Gwen gives him a wink and strolls off the lift to her somewhat normal job,  _the rat._

Peter pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and adjusts his too large sweater-sleeves, doing his best to look put together and presentable  _(ha!)._  The young man is in the middle of trying to flatten his puffy mask-hair when the doors chime open, and there sit the Avengers in variations of dress and alertness.

“Good morning, Peter,” Steve greets from his place at the kitchen table, the only person in the room who is fine with being awake at this hour. 

“Morning, Steve,” Peter chirps back, beginning to float around the room and hand out the coffees. (He has them all memorized now, doesn’t even have to write down their orders anymore-  _because Peter has been at this job, Just. That. Long.)_

“Want a muffin, Pete?” Sam asks from his place by the oven, cheek smeared with batter and hands covered by Hulk oven-mitts.

“Thanks,” Peter smiles as he grabs a blueberry one. A year ago, he might’ve declined the offer, but Peter has learned to never turn down free food, and to _never ever_   _under any circumstances_  turn down Sam’s food, because that would be a crime against mankind itself.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Tony asks as he strolls by, grease-covered and smelling of motor-oil. Peter makes a mental note to check in with Pepper about the man’s sleep schedule.

Peter pulls out his company issued Starkphone and flips through. “Press conference to talk about the Stark Relief Teams and S.I.’s work with Damage Control at 2:00, and then a meetup with the Fantastic Four at 5:00.” It’s actually at 6:00, but if Peter says 5:00 that gives him about a 65% chance that the Avengers will be on time.

“And you’ll be accompanying us?” Tony gives Peter a _Look_ , one eyebrow raised, eyes too wide as he stares at Peter over the rim of his coffee cup.

Meaning that if Peter even  _tries_  to wiggle his way out of this one there will be some sort of backlash for him to deal with later- and Peter  _does not_  have time to deal with Press Releases or calming down the guys from Payroll.

He has three different tests this week alone, he will not let the Avengers cost him any more of his study time.

He Will Not.

Doing an admirable job of keeping in his chest-heaving sigh contained (he’s had much practice) Peter says, “of course,” without actually glancing up from his phone.

And though Peter might not be looking, he can  _absolutely feel_  the shark-like grins aimed at his head. 

* * *

“So, how’s life?” Clint asks from his place next to Peter, squished in one of the two SUV’s they had taken to the press conference. He smells like jellybeans for some odd reason, Peter wrinkles his nose at the man.

“Well I’m stuck here having to bully a bunch of superheroes into doing their _job_ instead of working on my ethics paper,” Peter says, texting rapid fire to tell Pepper a quick summary of what went down at the press release.

Clint hums, his elbow jabs Peter in the ribs ‘accidentally’, so Peter does it right back. “You act like you’re our babysitter,” Clint says.

Peter glances up from his phone, gives Clint his best  _are-you-kidding-me_  look, and asks, slightly pointed, “why do you smell like jellybeans?”

Clint makes a considering noise as he pulls at his jacket, turning one of the pockets outward.  _“Oh!”_  he exclaims. “I must have left my jellybeans in here,” he pauses making a mournful sound in the back of his throat. “Damn. They’re all melted.”

Peter pretends that Hawkeye isn’t pouting over candy, he also valiantly pretends that he didn’t used to have crushes on The Avengers as a whole, because when he thinks about that something like second-hand embarrassment for his past-self and grief for his current-self war inside of him for dominance.  

Peter gestures to Clint, who is still picking at the glob of rainbow in his pocket. “I am essentially a high-end babysitter with a better title, and slightly better pay, you cannot convince me otherwise.”

“I was wonderin’ why you smelt like an Umpa Lumpa threw up on ya,” Bucky says from Peter’s other side. Making a face when Clint pulls off a bit of candy and throws it at him.

“I don’t understand you man,” Sam shakes his head at the archer, ignoring Clint and Bucky’s squabbling. “One second you’re all kickass and the next you’re like a wild five-year-old.”

Clint scoffs at Sam, even with Bucky’s hand fisted in his short hair.  _“A kickass five-year-old,”_  he defends, and then Bucky shoves some of the jellybean-mess into Clint’s spluttering mouth.

* * *

“Your job is _awesome,”_ Johnny snickers as he walks over, and it’s all Peter can do not to hit him.

“My job is the  _worst,”_  Peter hisses, because he may be half a room away from where the rest of the Avengers and Fantastic Four are talking, but he isn’t delusional enough to think them above eavesdropping.

“You get to boss around the  _Avengers,”_  Johnny says, draping an arm over Peter’s shoulders, leaning heavily against him, and at any other time that would be okay, but Peter has something called a  _secret identity,_  so he lets himself get thrown off balance by Johnny’s added weight, before stepping away.

“Yeah maybe,” Peter says, shoving Johnny off of him. “More like I have to trick or bribe them into doing any actual work. Can you imagine if I tried to give  _Tony Stark_  orders?” Peter whispers incredulously, “not gonna happen.”

Johnny looks a little surprised when Peter restores their personal space, but he recovers quickly, charming smile back in place, eyes twinkling. “Hey, you wanna grab a burger after this? I don’t think we’ve hung out since-”

Peter discreetly stomps on Johnny’s foot.  _“Shhh,”_  he hushed him, earning a glare from Johnny. “I don’t usually hang out with superheroes off the clock Mr. Storm, but thanks,” he says, giving Johnny the fakest smile he can manage before walking away.

Peter pulls out his phone as he makes it to the other side of the room, dodging Clint as he tries to ruffle Peter’s hair and ignoring Natasha’s eyes on him as he weaves his way over to the bathroom.

 **Pepher-**  Dude! Secret ID here!  
**Pepher-**  Peter Parker doesn’t hang out with Johnny Storm

 **John-dee-** nah. I’m pretty sure he’s my best fiend  
**John-dee-**  and we hang out alll the time  
**John-dee-**  or we used 2   
**John-dee-**  before he got all busy  
**John-dee-**  also U owe me new toes  
**John-dee-**  mine R all bruised noww

 **Pepher-**  Dude. Quit sending everything separately.   
               You’re blowing up my phone.

 **John-dee-**  I  
**John-dee-**  will  
**John-dee-**  never  
**John-dee-** stop  
John-dee-.  
John-dee-I  
John-dee-have  
John-dee-unlimited  
John-dee-texting  
John-dee-and  
John-dee-I  
John-dee- will  
**John-dee-**  use  
**John-dee-**  it  
**John-dee-**  the  
**John-dee-**  way  
**John-dee** \- god  
**John-dee-**  intended  
**John-dee-**  !  
**John-dee-**  !  
**John-dee-**  !

 **Pepher-**  god please STOP  
**Pepher-**  I have learned my lesson. Now shut up.

 **John-dee-**  well since U asked so nicely

 **Pepher-**  you aren’t discreet at all  
**Pepher-**  the avengers don’t know I’m into bugs.

 **John-dee-**  seriously dude. Into bugs? Is that what we’re callling it now?

 **Pepher-**  this is my Starkphone, gotta be careful

 **John-dee-**  well U aren’t discreet either..   
**John-dee-**  hiding out in the bathroom  
**John-dee-**  what is this a stupid rom-com?

 **Pepher-**  no worse. This is my life.

 **John-dee-**  U could always just tell’em

 **Pepher-**  yeah and then I’ll still be their assistant and work for S.I. and be one of the Avengers and we’ll live happily ever after.

 **John-dee-**  the sarcasm is literally leaking out of my phone   
**John-dee-**  ur already like 90% sure they know anyways   
**John-dee-**  it wouldn’t matter

 **Pepher-**  I’m now 96% sure. Steve made a comment about Spidey the other day that kind of maybe alluded to them knowing.   
**Pepher-**  also. It would matter, because not being sure if they know, and being positive that they know are totally two different things.

 **John-dee-**  it’s 4% Pete.   
**John-dee-**  I don’t think much would change.

 **Pepher-**  yeah well, we’ve been playing this weird game of pretend for two years and I don’t think I wanna change that now. At least not until I have to.

 **John-dee-**  ur life gives me a headache  
**John-dee-**  U have like a triple identity   
**John-dee** \- it’s excessive

 **Pepher-**  says the guy with like 5 cars

 **John-dee-**  if U don’t come out of the bathroom soon they’re gonna send someone in there to help

 **Pepher-**  god forbid  

 **John-dee-**  wanna grab burgers later?

 **Pepher-**  yeah meet you after patrol.

 **John-dee-**  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

* * *

See this wasn’t supposed to be Peter’s life.

When Peter first applied to Stark Industries at the whopping age of sixteen, he had been hoping for an unpaid internship. However, when Tony Stark saw his grades along with his IQ, and his knack for science and all things tech- Peter had been brought on right away.

For a while there, Peter had been down in Research and Development which had been perfect, building tech and bouncing ideas off of other people was totally up Peter’s alley. Until in the middle of his senior year of high school, a seventeen-year-old Peter had been offered a ‘promotion’ of sorts.

Tony Stark’s Personal Lab Assistant.

Peter had jumped at the idea, starstruck (or should he say  _Star(k)struck_ ) and far too naïve to Tony Stark’s evil ways. He’d of course said yes, and Peter bounced back and forth from R&D to Tony’s private workshop, in what he would now call foolish bliss.

The thing is, Tony Stark is a whirlwind of a man, it doesn’t take much to get swept away in the excitement and chaos of it all. And honestly, if you asked Peter how he came to be the Assistant to the Avengers, he’d tell you he had been tricked or bribed- or a combination of both.

“They torture me Gwen,” Peter whines, overdramatic from his place draped over a desk, one arm slung over his eyes the other hanging off to the side.

Gwen pokes Peter on the nose. “I know,” she says, not really paying attention.

This has become tradition now, Peter comes down to R&D to have lunch with Gwen, venting to her about the sorrows of working for inconsiderate Superheroes- all the while she doesn’t shove in his face how wonderful it is down here in the land of Research and Development.

Gwen has dubbed it as ‘Therapy Hour’.

“I am too good for them,” Peter says into the crook of his arm.

Gwen turns the page of her book, “far too good.”

“I should quit,” Peter goes on, “why haven’t I quit?”

Gwen takes a bite of her Pad Thai, “because you’d live in a box,” she says, mouth full.

Peter glares up at the ceiling, “boxes can be nice,” he says, “I could live in a fancy refrigerator box.”

Gwen kicks at the bottom of Peter’s dangling shoe. “You dream big Parker,” she says, turning yet another page.

“I could transfer back down here,” Peter goes on, imagining days filled with experimentation and science instead of following around a bunch of misfit heroes and trying to keep them from causing another public scandal.

“Your pay is way better,” Gwen says, she sounds disinterested, probably because they’ve had variations of this exact same conversation too many times to count.

“Dang,” Peter mumbles. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“You must hate me a lot then.”

“All the time.”

“I apologize for the interruption,” Jarvis calls from the ceiling and Peter groans loudly, smacking a hand to his face in response. “But it seems that Thor has caused a kitchen fire and requires assistance.”

Peter sits up so fast he almost spills Gwen’s food, he catches it more on instinct than anything else. “How is this my problem?” he asks no one in particular, or maybe everyone, perhaps he’s just asking the universe in general. “How is this an aspect of my job?  _Also!_  Why is Thor in the kitchen?! I know Sam didn’t give him his kitchen privileges back after the last incident.”  

He heaves a sigh so heavy he feels it in his bones, rolling to his feet as he ignores Gwen’s snickering from behind him, he feels like a disgruntled parent- How is this his life? Why is this his life? What did he do to deserve this?

“Tell’em I’ll be there in two minutes,” Peter mumbles as he makes his way back to the elevator.

* * *

Peter’s main job title is Tony Stark’s Personal Assistant, which he quickly learned actually means  _Assistant to the Avengers as a whole_. (and lord if he had only known that when he took on the job…idiot that he was, he probably still would have taken it)

So his job goes from organizing fundraisers and talk show appearances to dealing with the board of directors and numerous donors (he and Pepper have become close over the years, bonding over their shared suffering) Peter sort of deals with whatever is thrown at him, and when he first started out that had scared the crap out of Peter, but at this point he’s more resigned than anything.

The nice thing about his job, however, is that Peter gets to help oversee the projects down in Research and Development, he goes down there every Wednesday and just gets to tinker with the team and give input before Tony makes an appearance on Thursday to give his seal of approval- it’s by far Peter’s favorite part of the job.

Unfortunately, Harley also works in R&D.

“Y’know,” Peter drawls, sticking the tiny spoon into his frozen yogurt before popping it into his mouth. “I am technically your boss.”

Harley scoffs, soldering iron in hand, goggles over his eyes. “No you’re not. You’re the boss’s whipping boy.” He tosses the iron down, the smell of burnt metal doesn’t really register in Peter’s brain anymore, he doubts it does in Harley’s either.

Harley picks up his own frozen yogurt, (Peter’s buying today, his punishment for losing the bet) before he says, mouth full, “and I have the boss wrapped around my finger- so technically I am  _your_  boss.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, scrunching his nose in protest. “You do not have Tony wrapped around your finger,” he argues weakly, he cannot imagine having any power over Tony Stark and his iron will. (Pun intended)

Harley raises a skeptical eyebrow, swallowing his bite before he says, “I’m eighteen and don’t answer to the head of the department, only person who oversees me is the Boss Man himself.”

Peter pulls his legs off of the workbench he’s sitting on, his converses squelching against the metal as he sits up, blinking at the other boy for a moment. “Dang it,” he says, and then, “wanna switch lives?”  

“You could not pay me enough to take on your job,” Harley says, spinning around in an office chair.

Peter leans forward, “my benefits are  _amazing,”_  he says in a pleading voice.

Harley shakes his head, eyes closed, spoon hanging out of his mouth. “No amount of benefits could outweigh the negatives, sorry Pete.”

Peter sighs, slumps back onto the workbench, “how’d I get roped into this in the first place?”

“You’re too trusting, dude,” Harley tells him, “Tony asked me to be his lab assistant back when I first moved to New York, but I know a trap when I see one.”

Peter stares at Harley with something close to admiration, “you dodged one heck of a bullet,” he says over a breath, letting himself go boneless.

Harley kicks Peter in the ankle, Peter tries to kick him back but misses when Harley scoots the chair away. “Yeah well, I know how Tony Stark works. And I’m fine steering clear of that black hole.”

* * *

_“Pepper,”_  Peter whispers, frantic, one of his hands flapping at his side as he sneaks into her office, shutting the door quietly behind himself. “You _have_  to help me,” he pleads as he approaches her desk.

“What did they do now?” she asks, leaning back and lacing her fingers together.

Peter’s too jittery to sit in one of the chairs so he paces back and forth, tugging at his jacket sleeves with hyper hands. “Y’know how the team is scheduled to appear on ‘ellen’?” he asks, to which Pepper nods. “They are  _insisting_  that I go with them to California,” he whisper-shouts, wishing he had worn his glasses today, so he’d have something to fiddle with.

Pepper purses her lips, “you might like California Peter, you could look at it as a free vacation, I’m sure Tony would give you a few hours to sightsee.”

Peter slaps his palms to Pepper’s desk, she doesn’t even blink. “This wouldn’t be a  _vacation,”_  Peter hisses, “a vacation is the Avengers being 2,798 miles across the country while I lay in pajamas all day and eat bonbons until I throw up.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow, “sounds fattening,” she says.

Peter nods vigorously, “yes and it’s how I planned to spend the next three days, _but now they are forcing me to go with them!”_

Pepper pats Peter’s hand still clutching to her desk. “I’m sure you can eat bonbons on the private jet,” she says.

Peter throws up his hands, exasperated and betrayed, “Pepper- _Pepper,_ you are supposed to be on  _my_  side.”

Pepper gives him a sort of  _what-can-you-do_  smile, her shoulders coming up in a shrug. “I’m on the company’s side, and if you go with the Avengers there’s a 30% less chance of disaster occurring.”

Peter pulls a hand down his face, “why do I have to be responsible for superheroes?  _I’m not even a responsible person in general!”_

Pepper nods knowingly, “when you’re with them they’re too busy teasing you to cause much trouble anywhere else.”

Peter lets himself flop down into one of Pepper’s too squishy chairs, his head thumping the back. “I am essentially a sacrificial lamb,” he bemoans, eyes up on the ceiling as he resigns himself to his fate.

“And we at Stark Industries appreciate your sacrifice Peter,” Pepper says, not sounding sorry at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed something easy and familiar to write, what's better than going back to my writing roots- Spidey and the Avengers? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Please leave a comment they give me life. ;P


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So two days after I posted this I realized I missed a prime opportunity for a punny name, and I was kicking myself. So yes, I changed it.   
> \ (•◡•) /

**Chapter Two-**

Peter’s walking back from his morning lecture, his messenger bag thumping against his hips, his phone peacefully dead and therefore _silent,_ in his back pocket- when someone bursts from a batch of hedges and gives Peter a placebo heart-attack.

“What is _wrong_ with you?!” Peter squawks at Johnny, his voice embarrassingly high pitched, hand still clutching at his chest as he glares at the blond.

Johnny’s smile is far too wide, not remorseful at all. Ever since he figured out how he can scare Peter without setting off his spider-sense beforehand he has been getting more and more creative with how he sneaks up on Peter. “Just thought I’d pop in,” he says, somehow popping both P’s.

It’s excessive.

Peter makes his glare that much deadlier, he has perfected it over the past two years- he’s had to in order to survive the Avengers, his glare does not take on just mere mortal men, it must be strong enough to melt _bone_ \- or at least the drive to cause catastrophe and/or spend all of S.I’s research funds on Asgardian metals.

Peter steps away, rolling his eyes as he asks, “what are you doing here?” and then twisting so he’s facing Johnny, walking backward and dodging other students like a pro. “Also, how did you know where I was?”

Johnny shrugs, jogging a few steps to catch up with Peter. “I texted Gwen.”

Peter blows out a resigned raspberry, glancing up to the slightly overcast sky. He should have figured that. It was a mistake to introduce them, they _team up_ on Peter- which, by the way, should not be allowed, his friends do not get to go and form some sort of _alliance_ against him.

Doing so would constitute them as evil masterminds, and Peter cannot continue to live in a world where he is outsmarted by Gwen and Johnny.

Only thing that could possibly be worse is if they somehow managed to rope Harley into their evil club.    

“Don’t get all pouty on me, dude,” Johnny says, draping an arm over Peter’s shoulders as Peter turns back to face forward. Peter tells himself the only reason he doesn’t shove Johnny off is because it’s cold and Johnny is a living heated-blanket, that is the _only_ reason. “I come baring good news.”

Peter glances at the other man, squinting in suspicion from behind his glasses. “Last time you said that you dragged me on a road trip that ended with us fighting aliens.”

Johnny scoffs so loudly it sounds like it hurts on its way out. “That was _one_ time. _One Time.”_

“One time is already too many times,” Peter argues, indignant.

“You’re only saying that because that one alien tried to hum-”

Peter slaps his palm over Johnny’s mouth abruptly, cutting the other man off. _“Is that never talking about it again?!”_ he whisper-screeches, and then makes a disgusted noise of surprised when Johnny licks his fingers.

“Fine!” Johnny says, smacking Peter’s hand away when Peter tries to wipe his spit-covered fingers in Johnny’s overly manicured hair- everyone thinks that windswept look is natural, but Peter knows better, _he’s seen Johnny’s haircare products_!

Johnny continues, “obviously someone is still sensitive-”

“Johnny, I swear to _Thor!”_

“-about Intergalactic Reproductive Social-Norms.”

They both tumble into the grass as Peter tackles Johnny to the ground, his knee getting soaked in a mudpuddle in the process…it’s totally worth it to hear the way Johnny squeals.

* * *

Peter walks off the elevator and onto the common floor of Avengers Tower and immediately regrets it.

Up on the large flat-screen is some slightly blurred news footage from yesterday, Spider-Man and The Human Torch taking on the Rhino in the middle of Manhattan.

Peter watches out of the corner of his eye as Spider-Man gets hit in the head with a manhole-cover, falling to the ground dazed and disoriented for a moment, The Human Torch scooping him up an instant before Rhino can finish the job.

Peter still has the scabbed over gash on his forehead, it reaches into his hair, still red and painful looking, but the most annoying thing about it is how much it _itches_.

Bucky hisses a sympathetic breath at the television. “That sure looks like it hurt,” he says, glancing over to Peter with something twinkling behind his eyes, full of intent and not so secret meanings.

It’s an expression that Peter does his absolute darndest to ignore.

Natasha’s sitting at the kitchen table, reading over something in a language that Peter can’t decipher. She glances up as he steps in, giving him a scan over. “One hell of a scrape,” she comments, eye’s on Peter’s forehead.

Peter gives her the slowest blink that he can manage. “Yup,” he says, deadpan, because if he allows any inflection into his tone it’ll just come out as a thready scream.

“How’d it happen?” Steve asks, sitting down next to Natasha innocently, as he poses the question Bucky turns up the volume on the TV, making sure the sound carries.

The reporter on screen says, _“it looks like Spider-Man must have been suffering from some sort of head injury. The Human Torch had to escort him from the scene once Rhino was incapacitated. We hope that the Wall-Crawler got the medical attention he needed.”_

Peter thinks that maybe this situation would be hilarious, if it were happening to anyone else, or maybe it’s even funny right now, there’s a nervous, borderline hysterical laugh begging to burst from his mouth that he has to convulsively swallow against, so maybe this is funny, maybe it is _fudging **hilarious.** _

Is this what an out of body experience feels like?

What constitutes an aneurysm as an aneurysm?

“I was…” Peter has to take a breath, staring the Black Widow and Captain America in the eye and blatantly lying to them- while not anything new -will never be easy.

“Skateboarding,” Peter snatches onto the lie like a lifeline, (a ‘lieline?’). “I was skateboarding and fell.” It is, decidedly, an overused excuse, but it isn’t the worst story Peter has told, so he will mark this one down as a small victory.

Nat hums at him, but her sharp green eyes don’t leave Peter’s for a second. She stares at Peter like a determined cat stalking its prey, and it’s all Peter can do to stand his ground and not wither to the floor in a shaky puddle of nervous-sweat and guilty-tears.

“You should be more careful,” Steve says, and he isn’t laughing, not out loud, but Peter _knows_ , he can hear it in the undertone, and Steve is in fact _laughing._ “Make sure to wear a helmet next time, son.”

Peter’s upper lip is twitching, and he can’t seem to make it stop. Natasha’s eyes have locked onto the involuntary movement with deadly precision, and Peter pretends he hasn’t developed a stress-induced tick.

“I will be sure to do that Cap,” Peter promises, the words choked into a strangled-whisper.

* * *

“I should have known what I was signing up for,” Peter says as he drags his fry through a pile of ketchup. “There is a designated psychologist on retainer for my department.”

Gwen scrunches her nose in confusion from the other side of the booth. “But you’re the sole person with your particular job description…?”

Peter swallows down his french-fry with difficulty, and says, with more intensity than Gwen deserves, _“yesssss.”_

Gwen nods, her pony-tail bobbing on the back of her head, rubbing against the red vinyl of the seat. “Well it’s not like you don’t need one, I think you’ve gone over the edge, Petey-pie.”

Peter leans back in the booth, his legs stretched along the seat, hanging out the side as he lounges. “The edge would be a welcome place at this point, I fell off _that_ metaphorically ledge about a year ago and have been in a free-fall ever since.”

Gwen makes a noncommittal noise, stealing some of Peter’s fries as she asks, “when do’ya think you’ll hit the bottom?”

Peter sighs, thunking the back of his head against the window behind him. “With my luck, there is no bottom, just eternal nothingness until one day, _I_ _Die.”_

“Sounds magical,” Gwen says, throwing a fry at Peter’s face.

* * *

“Mr. Stark,” Peter tries again, a sort of pleading tone has entered his voice, _that_ is how desperate he is. _“Tony,_ please just sign the paperwork, I need payroll off my back, they have been sending me passive-aggressive borderline threatening emails.” Peter holds up his phone, showing the multiple emails there, the latest in all caps with explanation-points instead of spaces between them.

How they so efficiently make an email seem intimidating Peter will never know.

“Have you not learned how to forge my signature yet, kid?” Tony asks from where he’s hidden under machinery, it smells of singed metal and burned wires in here, it makes Peter want to go hide down in R&D and never leave.

But Colleen from payroll is _hunting_ him, and Peter is scared for his literal _life._

“If I knew how to do that, I’d have signed my transfer paperwork months ago,” Peter throws back.

Tony scoffs from under- Peter thinks it’s some sort of satellite. “If I remember correctly, Mr. Parker, you took on this job _willingly,”_ the man comments.

“I was _coerced,”_ Peter hisses back. “I was young and stupid and naive.”

Tony rolls himself out into the open, grease smeared on his cheek, his hair sticking up wildly. “So…exactly the same?”

Peter shoves the paperwork at him and physically pries a screwdriver from Tony’s hand and replaces it with a pen. “Signature on the yellow, initials on the pink and thumbprint here. Don’t test me Mr. Stark I can get Pepper down here with one text, she _owes me.”_

* * *

There are three coffee shops near Peter’s College Campus.

There’s a small place called ‘Déjà Brew’, that makes their own pastries and their drinks are rich and delicious. It’s quiet enough to do homework in, and the chairs are plushy and comfortable. The downside is that it’s more pricey, so Peter only camps out there when he is on a study binge.

Then there’s another place, ‘Joe’s Joe’, the atmosphere there could only be described as _grimy._ They water down their coffee and their snacks are either this side of soggy or just a hair away from burnt. The only reason Joe’s is still in business is because their prices are dirt cheap and they are closest to campus- preying on helpless zombie-students and their desperate need for caffeine.

Then there’s Peter favorite place, ‘Kool Beans’, who sits somewhere between the other two, a happy medium. It’s a hipster place, artsy graffiti on the walls and a sitting place with a few scattered tables and a bar. The coffee is good, and their food is edible, so they win.  

Peter frequents Kool Beans more than what is strictly necessary, (even for a young adult) but as an exhausted college kid, he fits in with all the other customers that haunt the coffee shop at all hours.

Peter limps into Kool Beans, windchimes singing overhead as he pushes open the door, he smiles tiredly at Aazeen as he walks over to the counter. Yes, Peter is on a first name basis with the baristas here, does this reflect on his life choices?

Absolutely.

“Hey, Peter,” Aazeen smiles, her eye makeup is on _point_ today, and Peter kind of wants to ask her if she could make him look less like a corpse with her mad skillset. “Hard day?” she asks, probably because of Peter’s black eye and split lip, not to mention his _sort-of, kind-of, little-bit, maybe-probably,_ broken ankle.

Doc Ock is rude and unnecessarily mean.

He is an unpleasant man, Peter’s seriously considering quitting their amateur frisbee league, it’s just not worth the physical and emotional pain it causes him on a bi-weekly basis.

_Ha._

Peter smiles tiredly at Aazeen, it doesn’t even feel fake on his face when he’s talking to her, because Aazeen is a sweetheart and she is the _Keeper of the Coffee_. “Adulting is especially hard today,” he replies, smirk still on his face, she doesn’t even _know._

“Tell me about it,” she agrees, “what will you have today?” she asks, dark eyes scrunching with her grin.  

“Uhhh,” Peter starts, tapping his chin contemplatively with a single finger. “I’m gonna be a total white girl today and have a caramel macchiato,” he orders.

Aazeen types it into the cash register, “and you didn’t even wear your ugg boots,” she quips, winking at Peter with the statement.

Peter gasps, mock-scandalized, hand over his heart. “What a fraud I am,” he bemoans, making Aazeen snort.  

It’s after Peter has paid and been handed his drink, making small talk with Aazeen the whole time she whipped it up, that he turns around and sees a man with dark-purple sunglasses and a redhead sitting at a corner table, smirks on their faces, a glint in their eye.

Peter marches over to them imminently, doing his best to cover over his limp. “This is not allowed,” he says, there is no need for a greeting, because this is _blatant stalking._

Clint looks at Peter over the top of his sunglasses. “Nice to see you too, Peter,” he says.

“This. Is Not. _Allowed.”_ Peter hisses again, with _feeling,_ he has _Many Feelings, Many Intense **Feelings!**_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clint says, taking a sip of his coffee, not breaking eye-contact with Peter even as he makes an exaggerated ‘aah _hhh’_ sound after he swallows. “This is our favorite place. We come here all the time.”

“Lies,” Peter jabs a finger at the man, “I know all your favorite places, and this is not one of them. It’s Nowhere Near The Tower.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, just looks on as Clint progressively chips away at what’s left of Peter’s sanity. She’s in a leather jacket and boots, her hair French-braided, which means Bucky needed something to do with his hands this morning.

Peter makes a mental-note to text Steve or Bucky to see how the man’s doing.

“You don’t know everything, Pete,” Clint argues, smug behind his shades- also, sunglasses inside? What a loser. “We’ve got plenty of secrets.”

“I don’t know everything,” Peter agrees, actively loosening his grip on his coffee cup so he doesn’t break it…last time that happened Peter wore his drink for the rest of the day and Gwen wouldn’t stop laughing at him.

“But I know Nat likes that one tea shop and you prefer Tony’s brand of _So Dark It Rots Your Stomach-Lining_ coffee,” Peter goes on, rapid-fire. “I also know that you stole Bucky’s vodka and it’s hidden in the airducts above the livingroom, _also,_ that you are the one that keeps eating Tony’s imported chocolates- I saw you feed some to Lucky -and _by the way,_ you shouldn’t be feeding dogs chocolate, even if it’s just a little bit.” By the end Peter’s talking so fast he has to suck in a large breath when he’s done. “I might not know all your secrets, Barton, but I know enough.”

Clint looks vaguely mortified, maybe a tad bit impressed, mouth working for a moment before he mutters, “ _touchy.”_

Natasha smirks, eyes glinting with barefaced amusement. “We were sent to make sure you are alight,” she says.

Peter suddenly remembers his scabbed over lip, the purple shadowing his right eye. The stalking suddenly makes sense, Spider-Man and Doc Ock fought it out last night in the middle of Time Square. Half the Avengers were on their own mission, the other half didn’t make it to the fight until Doc Ock was knocked out and Spider-Man was webbing away to lick his wounds in private.

And well, Peter is 99.9% sure that they _know_ , it’s the big red and blue elephant in the room.

So yeah, he maybe should have seen this coming.

“I’m peachy,” Peter says, shrugging because if they aren’t gonna come out and say it, then neither is he, he will _not_ lose the game, he refuses. “Peachy keen, swell, dandy.”

“Well if you’re ‘ _dandy’_ ,” Clint remarks, chugging the rest of his drink.

Natasha gives Peter a scan-over, not even trying to hide it. “Fell off your skateboard again?” she asks, smug.

Peter’s eye wants to twitch, he does everything in his power to stop it from doing so. “I was mugged, actually,” he says, deadpan, staring right back at Natasha, _daring_ her to call him out on it.

Natasha blinks at him, “maybe you should learn some martial-arts, I’d be happy to teach you.”

“Oh no,” Clint says, crossing his legs, “that’d be too advanced for a beginner like Pete over here, gotta start off with small steps. First; how to throw a punch, then work your way up, how to duck, how to kick without falling on your ass. Y’know the kiddie stuff.”

Peter’s eye wins, starts twitching in that uncontrollable way, he feels a headache coming on. “I’m not much of a fighter,” he forces himself to say.

“Obviously,” Clint remarks, and it’s all Peter can do not to break right here right now, but if they’re gonna play it That Way than Peter is gonna give it his all.

“Plus,” Peter goes on, tries to be casual as he says it, turning away from them, “I have asthma, physical exertion isn’t exactly my forte.”

He catches the way Clint’s whole frame freezes in bewilderment out of the corner of his eye, doesn’t miss the slight twitch Natasha’s fingers give around her cup. Peter pretends he isn’t looking, doesn’t care, walking away from the two, and slowly losing it on the inside.  

Two can play at this game, two can play at this game indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Avengers Endgame, huh? I am both incredibly ready and so very unprepared...lord. 
> 
> As always, comments give me life!

**Author's Note:**

> I needed something easy and familiar to write, what's better than going back to my writing roots- Spidey and the Avengers? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Please leave a comment they give me life. ;)


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